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Chapter 217: Chapter 26, Episode 11: The Syria-Ruman Plan

“Wow, I heard Syria is a third-world country, but this is amazing. They are already spreading propaganda s***!” Black Mamba’s exclamation soon turned into laughter.

The accomplishments of Assad’s government were stuffed into a palm-sized paper written in both French and Arabic. It was the public enlightenment speech that Korea had often used in the ’60s to ’70s.

[President Assad prevented the fights between each faction and spearheaded the Syrian political policies to embrace the Christians. Syria, unlike its brother countries, was able to develop steadily. Circumstances of the Muslim Brotherhood who besmirched the Muslim name from Lebanon and Egypt entering our country have been captured. Those who report or kill the members of this evil organization will be rewarded. We would like the public to cooperate with the Shabiha in their pursuit to catch them.]

The Sunni Muslim Brotherhood was an organization that had publicly declared and committed Assad’s assassination. Assad was from the small Alawites faction of Shiites. Assad had been very wary of the Sunni Muslim Brotherhood. The reason behind Mukhabarat’s initial founding was to flush out the Sunni spies and members.

The Shabiha was created by Assad’s cousin, Namir al-Assad, and his brother, Rifaat al-Assad, in 1982. Shabiha meant “violent gang.” They were a violent organization that had been controlled by the president, and they had also received aid from the government.

Unlike his excuse in which he had called them the public police support militia, Shabiha was another chain that had suppressed the citizens through violence and terrorism. Assad was basically Kim Il Sung’s student, who had learned how to maximize surveillance and fear effectively.

80 percent of Syria were of the Sunni faction, 17 percent were of the Christians, and one percent were of the Alawites, which was Assad’s faction. Assad had smartly declared himself the protector of all religions and dragged the majority of Christians to his favor.

Assad was preventing the bomb from going off by playing hot and cold, but his government’s power was weak to the point that it could crumble by a single mistake. If the Sunnis had agreed to become a part of the Muslim’s Brotherhood, Assad’s ship would have capsized. That was why Assad, who was in agreement with the ANO, had shown such hostility to the Muslim Brotherhood organization.

“Oh, I should attack the enemy with their enemy.”

He came up with a plan to distract the Mukhabarat. It was to create problems and later, pushing the blame to the Muslim Brotherhood. He didn’t question how. A method was bound to present itself with a direction in mind.

For now, he had to contact the slipper. His head only spun at the foreign terrain, despite his efforts.

“Ugh, whatever. All I can do is wait for the slipper, I guess.”

He folded the map away and used the backpack as his pillow to lay down. An average human could walk 20 kilometers in four hours. A trained intelligence agent could arrive before six. Black Mamba enjoyed his nap on the hill blowing soft breezes.

Syria’s north and south temperatures differed greatly. The north, which was a part of the Mediterranean climate, was always warm and breezy. The cirrus clouds that drifted across the blue sky was the norm. On the other hand, the central and southern parts were occupied by Syria’s desert. That was why it was called the “country of wind and deserts.” In summer, Damascus’ temperature went up to 45 degrees Celsius while Maydanki Lake hovered around 25 degrees Celsius.

Finally, the morning came. The slipper didn’t appear. He was told that the rescue transmitter didn’t have a limited range as it was connected to a satellite. This meant that the slipper had been involved in an accident or had stupidly turned off his transmission. He flicked the rescue transmitter off and shoved it in his backpack. If the slipper didn’t come, he had to go to it.

“It’s azure[1]!” he exclaimed unknowingly.

The sun was just about to rise. Several cirrus clouds were floating in the opaque blue sky, drifting with the wind.

The cirrus clouds, which were floating amongst the spring wind in pieces, were like dandelion seeds. He couldn’t come up with another expression for the cold, blue sky other than the word “azure.”

He could see Maydanki Lake from afar. It was a long, narrow lake, as though a ribbon had been stretched. A few storks were circling freely over the lake where the steam fog rose.

It was a peaceful and lovely sight. He had forgotten about the history of the lake where remnants of Syrian Orthodox Christians, which Turkey had massacred, remained at its bottom.

A boy, around 10-years-old, appeared to be herding the sheep towards the lake. He had skillfully herded the sheep to the plains with his long stick.

Fruit trees were lined up around the organized farmlands following the lake. He could see two red swings. A young girl was swinging around while a man who seemed like her father was cutting down the bushes with a machete. He was a hardworking farmer.

How blessed was this scene compared to the Sahel! For a moment, Black Mamba lost his train of thoughts over the peaceful scene. Was it like the scene on the straw bridge? No. It was the scene of Inje Nature Preserve. Moving slowly across the fields, Syria’s mountainous village, which was not in any rush, looked just like the scenery at Inje Nature Preserve.

The girl who had been playing on the swings was complaining to her father. She was kicking up a fuss while wiping tears from her eyes. The father pretended as though he hadn’t heard her and continued working.

Damn, what a cold b*stard.

Black Mamba walked towards them.

“Sabah al-Khair?”[2]

It was one of the 30 Arabic words he’d memorized.

“Naam, madha hunak?”[3]

The young man grew extremely tense at the strange man’s appearance. He had nothing else to say in the language, so there wasn’t any way to lower his guard either.

This man isn’t a farmer.

Black Mamba knew at once. He was someone who had worked since he was 13. He could recognize how trained a person was by a single movement. The man didn’t even know how to wield the machete. His hands weren’t rough, either. Tears clung to a pretty girl’s eyes, who looked around six years of age.

Black Mamba pointed at the wooden doll in her hands. Its neck was broken.

The man wielding a machete shook his head and stepped forward. He was asking him to leave, without sticking his nose in other people’s business.

“Marhaban!”[4]

Black Mamba smiled at the girl and held out his hand. Mina of Inje’s Nature Preserve, who had waited for her pa-pa to return to Inje’s countryside, was here too.

“Marhaban!” The girl smiled as she handed him her doll.

The man’s eyes widened. His daughter had just smiled at a stranger!

Wael tended to avoid people after injuring her legs, which had caused her facial muscles to grow stiff. She didn’t play with friends around her age and hated it when adults approached.

Flick—

The machete which had been in the man’s hands moved to Black Mamba’s hands.

Scink—

A thick olive tree branch was cut in one smooth motion.

The man stared blankly at Black Mamba. His gaze switched from his hands to the knife. Why was the knife he’d just been holding, in the stranger’s hands?

Schink—

Crack—

Crack—

The machete moved seamlessly. Black Mamba truly had the potential to become a sculptor. The dimensional sight was an ability that could spread the diagram of an object’s form by using the brain’s senses. He could compare a completed picture to what he was working on, in real-time.

He could also complete any work quickly with the use of his resonance. A dull knife could be sharpened. The man’s eyes grew wide. The dull machete hadn’t stopped sharpening at all. It was a skill that not even the moonlight sculptor, who was told to have carved a sculpture larger than a dinosaur within a night, could have attempted.

“La’astati ‘an ‘usadiq!”[5]

A doll larger than what the girl was holding was created in 15 minutes. It was an assembled type, where the head and limbs could be taken apart. It was a girl with a lively expression, Mina.

“Wow, shukraan[6]!”

The girl’s expression grew bright as she received the toy. The girl stuck her head out and kissed Black Mamba’s cheek.

“Ah, no!”

The man stared at Black Mamba with a confused expression. The man’s skills were good, but his daughter’s reaction was even more surprising. His daughter didn’t even kiss him!

Black Mamba threw the machete at the man. The man opened his hands in reflex. The knife’s handle landed in his hands as though it had been handed. The man became even more confused.

“Your left leg looks uncomfortable.”

The girl couldn’t understand French. She tilted her head. He grabbed the girl’s leg and shoved in his resonance. There wasn’t a problem.

The man tried to stop Black Mamba, but he hesitated. Something was pushing him back, so he couldn’t approach. It was like a finger pushing a balloon away. The man’s face froze.

“Can you try walking?”

Black Mamba held the girl’s hand. Her body shook every time she used her left leg. Upon closer examination, the girl’s left face seemed awkward. It was hemiplegia. He sat the girl back on the swing and touched her head with both of his hands. He had already experienced breaking through blood clots in the brain before.

His resonance unraveled in her head like a thread with ease. A lot of concentration was needed in order to use both dimensional sight and resonance at the same time. Sweat beaded on Black Mamba’s forehead. 10 minutes later, he found all of the six blood clots.

The girl had banged her head on something very hard. She’d either tripped, fallen from a tree, or rolled down the stairs.

He raised the intensity of his resonance. He knocked on the blood clots as though he was extracting it. Fortunately, the blood clot had formed recently. It wasn’t that hard.

Knock knock knock—

Blood started flowing through her vein. He could see the brain cells resuming their activity with his dimensional sight. When he lifted his hands off her head, the farmer handed him the towel he’d slung around his shoulders with both hands. Black Mamba took the smelly towel and wiped the sweat off his face. The man’s expression brightened.

“What’s your name?”

“Wael Jadir, sir,” the man replied on her behalf.

Black Mamba turned to look at the man with a smile.

“You know how to speak French. Did your girl ever injure her head?”

“How did you know? She fell from a fig tree last year, upside down. Who are you?”

The man looked to be 10 years older than Black Mamba, but he had spoken formally.

“There’s no need for you to know. The kid’s been treated.”

“Treated? How?” the man asked in a high tone.

Was it a treatment instead of a massage?

“Her cerebral veins had been damaged due to a strong shock. It must have gone unnoticed since there weren’t any external injuries. It’s a symptom called hemiplegia. After some time, half of the body will become stiff, and the left leg will become unusable. Your girl almost became disabled due to your ignorance.”

“No, how could that be? Who on earth are you?” the man asked the same question again.

“????!”[7]

The man had asked for his identity, but he couldn’t answer with Black Mamba. Kanma? Corn killer? Azrael? Ange de la Mort? None of them. He couldn’t tell the man his real name, Mu Ssang, either.

Mu Ssang was a synonym for swordsman. He was from the east, so he was the eastern swordsman. He had avoided responding to such a name. After saying so, he realized he’d been no different from Sun WooHyun, who went around calling himself Namir. His face burned.

“Du-bai-bull-pa?”

The man’s pronunciation was very thick.

“Dong-bang-bull-pae!”

“Ddu-bai-buru-pa!”

F****** hell!

He stopped trying to fix the man’s pronunciation. What did it matter between “ddu-bai-buru-pa” or “dong-bang-bul-pae,” when he was already named after the devil of hell!

“Wael, come to father,” the man called for his child.

“Ooh!”

The man stared at the girl’s legs. How could it be! Her shaking leg had stabilized. There was strength in her left leg.

“Wael!”

The man hugged his daughter. The strange young man’s mention of treatment echoed in his head.

“How did this happen?”

“I penetrated her blocked clots. She’ll be running around freely, a few days from now.”

“Oh, how could this be! Are you an apostle of God?” the man’s voice trembled.

Tears were falling from his eyes.

“No. I’m a passing acquaintance. I hope you live well with your daughter.”

Black Mamba turned around. It had been an impulsive action. He’d begun to care more about other people’s matters due to his rough childhood. However, now, it was time to work for his food.

The man ran over and kneeled.

“Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa, my name is Bakri Jadir. I don’t know who you are, but to me, you’re a devoted apostle of God. Please, give me the honor of serving you a meal.”

“What are you doing?”

Cold eyes looked down at the man. The man’s eyes were filled with trust and sincerity. His unstable brain waves were due to his extreme excitement. Black Mamba’s eyes grew soft. Sincerity always warmed the heart.

The man looked down at Black Mamba’s clothes. He’d worn a tobe around his uniform and a keffiyeh on top. His shoes were combat boots made of Gore-Tex, which the Technical Design division had made especially for him. He was obviously an outsider. Even his unusual backpack was a problem.

“I don’t mean anything else. I simply wish to dine with you, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa. My house is on the outskirts, far away,” Bakri quickly concluded on his behalf.

“Fine. Wait, I can’t go empty-handed to a house on my first visit now, can I?”

Black Mamba walked down to the lake. The man grabbed his daughter’s hand and followed.

Maydanki Lake was healthy. Fishes swam freely within the sapphire-colored lake. Some fishes were thicker than his arm. There was a mix of carps and catfish.

Black Mamba took out his Gorgon. When the fearsome-looking whip appeared, Bakri flinched.

Woosh—

A sound like a great motor tearing through the air rang. The six-meters Gorgon twisted like a dragon in the air.

After gaining some speed in the air through several turns, the Gorgon landed on the water’s surface.

Boom—

A strange sound exploded. The water’s surface split into two. Two fishes, which were over two rulers long, floated to the surface with its bellies pointing up.

Boom—

Boom—

The whip cracked down again.

The lake had been living peacefully for a long time. It was destroyed by the unexpected, violent stranger. The surface of the lake returned to its original disheveled state.

Bakri’s eyes widened. Seven fishes were floating on the water’s surface with their bellies pointing up. There were seven members in his family. It was pure coincidence, but Bakri was looking through pink-tinted eyes.

“Lord, thank you! You’ve finally sent an apostle to this land. I praise you, my Lord. I praise Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa!”

[1] A bright blue color like that of a cloudless sky.

[2] “Hello?”

[3] “What is it?”

[4] “Hi!”

[5] “I can’t believe it!”

[6] Thank you.

[7] Dong-bang-bull-pae: The eastern swordsman